


i'll be your animal

by vorokis



Series: to my knees you do promote me [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Come Inflation, Demon Anatomy, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Minor asphyxiation, Multiple Orgasms, Name-Calling, Overstimulation, Partial Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorokis/pseuds/vorokis
Summary: Dante wouldn’t even call it fucking, what they do together, what they do to each other. It's too tame a word. The reality is closer to a mauling. A devouring that will never really end, not until they themselves do.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: to my knees you do promote me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801687
Comments: 35
Kudos: 293
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	i'll be your animal

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [兽性沉沦](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737773) by [Prozaco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prozaco/pseuds/Prozaco)



> pooooorn, this is just porn with litchrally no set-up. gotta credit [Lovely_Silhouette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely_Silhouette/pseuds/Lovely_Silhouette) for the initial inspiration behind this fic, and then it just...went and did whatever it wanted. 
> 
> i'm also just laughing at the tag set up there bc it makes this fic sound wilder than it really is and reminds me of when i once joked that i’d never be able to write a DV PWP fic w/o a “power dynamics” tag bc Vergil always takes control. i can’t say i’m all too bothered by this tho, lmao.
> 
> title is from Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy” -- enjoy!

Dante comes the first time on his hands and knees and the second time bent down on collapsed arms, his brother’s name crackling out from his throat in hoarse, stuttering groans. His back and thighs fucking _ache_ , riddled with still-sparking bite marks the shape of Vergil's mouth, and his hips are trapped in Vergil’s clutch, the skin there stamped by a vice grip, the bones there never to forget his brother's proprietary touch. A quake zipping hard along the lines of his body, pleasure spikes high and rich through Dante's veins like new blood as Vergil keeps driving into him, dragging out the aftershocks into something vaster and electric.

Dante wouldn’t even call it fucking, what they do together, what they do to each other. It's too tame a word. The reality is closer to a mauling. A devouring that will never really end, not until they themselves do. They've wrecked beds and walls as they've tried to wreck each other, kissing with fangs, stroking with claws, leaving behind bruises as real and lingering as is possible on bodies that heal too fast. For days at a time, Dante swallows and seems to always taste his brother's come at the back of his throat. Beneath Vergil's vest are the fading marks where Dante's teeth had nearly taken chunks out of his shoulders and the gouges carved and re-carved into his chest where Dante likes to use his claws and brace himself whenever he's grinding down on his brother's lap. 

It doesn’t surprise him that it’s like this between them. Their love would never have been without brutality in its cellular makeup, a ravenous, monstrous heart beating at the core of it. Dante welcomes it, relishes it, the helices of violence and pleasure coiled tight together, sharp along his skin whenever Vergil bites at him, pulsing hot within him whenever Vergil thrusts in. 

His brother fucks with a familiar unfaltering precision, hitting just right, bringing a bright, scorching flare each time, and Dante grits out a harsh, “ _C’mon_ ,” as he tightens down on Vergil’s cock so that Vergil groans, the deep rumble of it rippling through into Dante where Vergil’s chest is pressed firmly against his back. “C’mon, gimme that come, wanna drip with it, need it.”

“‘ _Need_ ,’” Vergil throws back at him, a rough, mean snarl of a word. “It’s always about need with you, Dante. You need my attention, my love, my cock, my come. You need and need and _need_ and the more I give, the more desperate you get.” 

“It’s you, you bastard,” Dante snarls back, “you do this to me, make me need everything, I can’t fucking _stop_ ,” and he grinds back deliberately onto the cock holding him wide open, tries to get it shoved in impossibly deeper. He doesn’t want to learn how to stop needing this, anyhow; can’t think of a stupider fucking thing than living without this pure ecstasy only his brother can spark in him, hating that he's ever had to in the first place. The ache blazes sharper where he’s already raw from how savagely Vergil’s taken him—is still taking him—but his dick’s barely softened despite the second orgasm only seconds ago. There’s another one already building again in the pit of his belly, in the tightness of his balls, his body straining for it, and Dante could speed it along, reaching for his cock, stroking it in time with Vergil’s thrusts. 

He doesn't. He knows how he wants to come—on his brother’s cock, from his brother’s cock—and he knows Vergil will get him there like he’s done so many devastating times before. 

“A good thing, then,” Vergil replies, low and intent, “that I won’t stop, either.”

With a swift tug, he drags Dante backwards and onto his lap, makes him sit on the wide jut of Vergil’s dick with a strike so much deeper and a thickness so much fuller that Dante goes blind for a long moment. Goes heavy and limp and over-sensitized in Vergil’s arms, head tossed back onto his brother’s shoulder under the force of the obscene moan that pours startlingly loud out of him. Destabilized and reeling, he's too weak to do anything about the hand Vergil dares to close around the front of his throat, the grip more possessive and claiming than any collar could ever hope to be. His mouth, hot at Dante’s ear, says, “Your need is as infinite as my greed, little brother. Make your demands; I’ll meet each one and leave you destroyed every time.” 

Dante doesn’t reply. Can’t reply. He's reduced to gasping with every relentless thrust Vergil fucks up into him, sharp snaps of his hips that he holds Dante down onto with his other hand still tight around Dante’s hip. Dante can’t tell if the harshness is meant for him or if Vergil is solely pursuing his own pleasure now and Dante is simply a means to that end, nothing more than a sweet hole to hold his brother’s cock and come. A convenience, a tool. 

The thought is debasing. It’s enraging. An affront that sets his demon off seething in defiance. 

It’s _heady_. Dante’s face goes up in flames, his skin prickling all over with desert heat. 

With thighs that shake, he tries to lift himself, but his attempts are fumbling, exquisitely hindered by the ruthless slide and drag of his brother’s cock, and Dante's forced to collapse back against Vergil instead, chest heaving with half-breathed moans as that simply drives Vergil deeper into him again, leaves Dante's mind stuttering like it's on its way to cracking into shreds of itself. 

Vergil chuckles a dark, husky sound at his failure, as if Dante is some amusing plaything Vergil’s rendered too fuck-stupid to coordinate himself anymore. “Something the matter?” his brother asks in that all too knowing, lordly voice that always makes Dante want to punch at him till he bleeds, then drink from his blood-stained mouth. 

“Yeah," Dante let outs heavily, "you’re a fucking jackass, that’s what,” only to promptly choke as his brother retaliates with a tightening of the hand fixed to Dante’s throat. It’s a press just threatening enough to cut off his air, just exhilarating enough to make his dick jerk hard and drip some more.

“Feel free to get up off my cock and leave,” Vergil says, silk-smooth above Dante’s strangled moan. His grip remains unrelenting for a long, beautiful moment where Dante sees nothing but white brightness before Vergil lets go, thumb stroking over the skin he’s briefly bruised. He nuzzles into Dante’s temple in imitation of tenderness, murmuring, “Go on. Leave if I’m displeasing you.”

Dante hauls in breaths that he wishes he couldn’t. That he wants Vergil to stifle and take away from him again. He just about shoves back down the, _again, choke me again_ , crawling up his throat and manages to turn it into a ragged, “Nah, wouldn’t wanna make you cry.” 

“Forgive me if I don't believe you,” Vergil says, moving again, slamming up into Dante over and over in unfiltered shots of bliss that sweep Dante back up till he’s lost in the agony of the pleasure, his shaky groans blending into one lengthy, unending sound. Vergil's voice returns to Dante's ear as a pour of scalding liquid heat: “This is why you’ll never be able to leave. You want this too much. Every hour of every day.” 

“This,” Vergil says, “is what you are.”

“A _slut_ ,” he says, and Dante can’t help the undignified fucking _whine_ he lets out at that, a helpless, pitched agreement wrenching itself out of him as the word pierces hook-deep into his mind, resounding loud and inescapable throughout him. Draped within Vergil’s eloquent tones, the vulgarity of it is richer, pouring gasoline over Dante’s lit-up veins, and Dante burns, burns, burns. 

“You agree, of course,” Vergil says, casual like he’s not taking Dante apart with his dick and his words. “You enjoy being called that. Too shameless not to.” 

“Yeah,” Dante says hoarsely. “Yeah, I am.” He knows what he is, what he becomes beneath his brother’s hands. “I got high standards, too. You think you got what it takes to satisfy me?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Obtuse isn’t an attractive look.” 

And Dante would’ve laughed, except the fluid roll of Vergil’s hips and the fluid roll of pleasure makes it hard to do anything but sob, and the moment Vergil whispers into his ear, “Slut,” all soft and delicate, deliberate—has to be deliberate, Vergil must know what he’s doing—it’s a grenade suddenly unpinned. Dante comes, hit by the storm of it slamming in at full strength, and it hurts the best kind of hurt, it ravages every inch of him, his eyes heating up like he’s about to fucking cry as he sprays up his chest, splatters reaching all the way to his jaw. 

Vergil makes a sound that's a cross between a growl and a groan like he’s in some kind of perfect pain, too, like Dante's too tight around his dick right now, and still his brother fucks through that tightness, merciless in this as he is in battle. Dante feels each thrust sizzle and arc along his every hypersensitive nerve and he wants to claw at Vergil for it— _does_ claw at him, reaching back with a growl of his own and a reckless hand, scoring deep across Vergil's hip. Vergil's answering snarl vibrates into Dante's skin, a prelude to the telling jerk and pulse of his brother’s cock, another rushing flood of heat pouring into Dante as if a river returning home. 

A cold, unwelcome moment of horror strikes without warning as Vergil suddenly pulls out of him, the abrupt emptiness agonizing after having known the fullness his brother brings, and fear grips Dante in its solid fist. “No, stay—stay—” falls out of him in a frantic garble, his heart pounding too fast in his throat, chest, wrists, leaping as though it wants to abandon Dante altogether and chase after Vergil. 

“Where would I go,” Vergil says as he pushes Dante back down onto the sticky sheets and turns him around. "Why would I go anywhere else at all when inside you is where I belong.” His cock is still thick like he didn’t just come, thick and dark red and wet from everything he’s spilled inside Dante already, perfect as always except for the fact that it’s not inside him anymore, and then Vergil's roughly shouldering himself back in between Dante’s legs, his hands pushing at the back of Dante’s knees to lower them towards his own chest. “You’re still not desperate enough for my liking, Dante," Vergil says, that slinking, caressing voice replete with danger, and Dante's belly tightens up immediately.

His throat hurts from the moan jarring through it when Vergil spears back into him without hesitation, fucking in so deep, so hard, so quick, that it's a bolt right through Dante, searing him as it goes so that he arches up tautly. So that he _keens_ and then chokes on that keen. 

“Fu—uck, Ver— Ver—” But he can’t get anything more out, barely able to drag in snatches of breath between each slam of Vergil's cock, his brother fucking him like he has no intention of ever stopping again, like fucking Dante’s the only thing he even knows anymore, what he was made for just as Dante was made to take it. 

Dante can’t even push back into his brother’s thrusts; Vergil has him too trapped, helpless and feeble from pleasure, weighed down too heavily with it to escape, not that he ever would escape even if he could, ‘cause it’s a pleasure all on its own to be caught like this by the only other person in the world who could manage it. To be at Vergil’s beautifully lethal mercy and crushed under the weight of his perpetual desire. 

“It’s so much, baby,” Dante babbles, even as he tries to spread his thighs open some more, tilt his hips up some more, toes curling, in an attempt to get Vergil right into the heart of him, “it’s so—I can’t come again, I can’t—”

“ _And_?” Vergil says savagely. “Does it even matter that you can’t come.”

It doesn’t, it really fucking doesn’t, ‘cause Dante’s just as insatiable, his need as infinite as Vergil’s greed, and he doesn’t care if he can’t come so long as Vergil’s splitting him open, so Dante says, “ _No_ ,” shouts it, almost, “If you fucking dare take this from me—” 

“That's what I thought. All you need is my cock inside you—”

“Yes, yeah, yeah—”

“—and you want me to make you take it and I will, Dante. I will.”

“Make me,” Dante agrees, breathy. He’s off-kilter and shaking right to the bones. His dick aches from the orgasm he’s just spiraled through and it aches some more from the orgasm he can’t give at all right now but desperately, always desperately, wants to. “Make me, Vergil.” 

" _Make you_ ," Vergil rumbles, releasing Dante's legs to settle his arms on either side of Dante's head, the muscles bunched thick into pronounced swells that could hold Vergil up for an age and let him keep Dante fucked-open on his dick as much as he wants.

Dante’s getting light-headed. Dizzy. He's losing grip on anything but his brother: the dark silver of Vergil’s sweat-wet hair and the pink glow of his skin, the heat in his eyes and the determined set to his stubbled jaw and his cruel, beautiful mouth with its tendency to utter cruel, beautiful things. Dante’s never going to let him go. Never. His hands scrabble along Vergil's damp, fever-hot skin, clutching at him with his arms to keep him close, clutching at him with his hole to keep him buried inside. 

Vergil groans out scraped-raw sounds and then fashions scraped-raw words out of those groans. “You get even tighter like this. I could stay trapped inside you for days.” 

“Want it,” Dante says, willing to agree to anything right now, to give everything. “Want it, want, you forever.” Somewhere during that haze and blur of vicious, incendiary pleasure, Vergil comes again, grinding into Dante with a firm twist of his hips, and Dante moans, pants, “In me, in me,” as the place where their bodies clash and slap together grows obscener than ever, too slick and filthy-loud and sloppy. 

“Always in you,” Vergil rasps as though he’s making a promise. He's shivering through his orgasm, shivering as he soaks Dante again, deep within where Dante won’t ever get Vergil’s come out of him, some safely hidden part of him remaining forever slick from it, claimed indelibly by it, and everyone who nears him will smell it. Will know at once who he belongs to, as they should. 

Cradling his brother to him, Dante kisses him through the violent shudders, tasting each of his long, scratchy groans, until Vergil finally goes quiet and still and they’re simply breathing against each other. Breathing into each other, harsh pants, then slower inhales, steadier exhales. The first moments of anything approximating calm since they reached for each other tonight. 

Dante doesn’t want it.

He’s throbbing where he’s split around Vergil’s dick, throbbing harder even deeper inside, raw but not raw enough. There is still so much more that he can take, that he wants to take, that Vergil can and will make him take, his satiation still so far away from being fulfilled. “Tell me,” Dante says and doesn’t even pretend that he’s not pleading right now, “tell me it’s not over.” 

Vergil brushes his lips against Dante’s, soft. So soft, so unlike his steel murmur of, “It's almost sweetly naïve that you would even have to ask that.” So unlike the menacing look in his eyes, promising a perfect obliteration that will leave Dante in ruins. 

Dante breathes out a long shuddering breath of want. Of relief.

Then he groans, bereft, at the silk-drag of Vergil’s cock pulling out, his hole instinctively clenching down, trying to keep his brother in place.

Vergil hisses. “Greedy.”

“Said it yourself: you belong in me,” Dante says, groaning a second time at the hot rivulet of come spilling out of him as Vergil withdraws, at how, _fuck_ , at how wet he is, wet all over the chest and belly, in between his legs from hole to thighs to cock, must be fucking _drenched_ inside. 

Vergil’s attention has flicked down there, his laser focus on how Dante leaks and leaks, and Dante just spreads his thighs that much wider, unabashedly enjoying the shamelessly lingering drag of his brother’s pleased gaze over what he's done to Dante, how fucked-open he's left him.

“Loose,” Vergil says, “but not loose enough.” 

"For?" Dante asks, pulse speeding up. He gets his answer even as he's asking, the muscles of Vergil's gleaming body shifting, scattered fragments of his skin changing from slick and soft to harder and rougher, until Vergil is kneeling over him, the shade of his eyes less like clearest ice and more the ethereal blue of his demon, his face and body patterned with bursts of scales and pale light like a half-finished mosaic. 

Dante doesn’t need to look down to know what else has changed, but he does look, has to, helpless against it, and he sees the far larger cock jutting out from in between Vergil’s legs. He sees its inhuman beauty. Its several ridges, its raised blue whorls looping around the rigid gunmetal gray shaft, its glistening head where thick pre-come already seeps heavily.

He sees the _threat_ of it. How it is nothing made for tenderness, but simply invasion. It’ll plunder him, rend him, so long as he is in a human body unsuited to take a demon’s cock. 

Dante sees all of this, and a slither passes through him, piercing sharp, something that should be fear and is jagged thrill instead.

His throat tightens with it, too: something that should be a refusal but is voracious acceptance, thick enough for him to choke on like he does on his brother's dick, like he did with his brother's hand squeezing on his neck. 

"Not that you would've ever been loose enough, obviously," Vergil says with his customary arrogance.

Dante wraps one hand around his spent cock and the never-ending desperation stirring in it. He thinks: it’s gonna take a fucking hour to get all that inside me. He says, “You’re gonna break me.” 

“Yes.”

Uttered cruel-tender, like Vergil’s savoring the truth of the word, anticipating Dante's undoing with wicked glee. 

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“And you’re going to enjoy it. It’s what you want. To be broken on the end of my cock.” 

Dante closes his eyes in answer. The agreement echoes itself in the frisson skimming along the underside of his skin. 

“No, you’ll look at me.” One claw tip skims lightly over Dante’s cheek. “You’ll watch me as I have you again.” 

So Dante stares up into his brother’s unblinking, incandescent eyes, lets a clawed hand take hold of his body again, his legs going over Vergil’s shoulders. 

The fat, wet, blunt tip of Vergil’s cock comes to brush against his slack (not slack enough) hole, lingering there just for a teasing moment while Dante’s heart turns wild inside his chest. Then Vergil begins pushing in. 

Dante’s mind goes—blank. His mouth falls open. No sound comes out. 

It's too much already, just that small parting of himself, Vergil’s cockhead huge enough despite its shallow press, and as the press ruthlessly continues, as it turns into an inch slipping inside, the stretch becomes impossible, the burn and pressure incessant, soaring into a pain that mesmerizes Dante, pulling out helpless little husks of sounds from his throat. Vulnerable sounds. 

He tosses his head restlessly on the pillow beneath him, reaching up for his brother, scratching his nails against skin and scale. “Vergil. Vergil. _Verge_.”

“Shh, it's all right," Vergil soothes, voice pitched low, curling into Dante like sultry smoke. "Let it happen. Take it for me, Dante. I know you can." 

"Let it happen," Dante repeats tightly. Repeats it over and over in his head. 

“You’re made for me. Meant for me. You’ll always be able to take me.”

Dante sinks his teeth into his lower lip, tasting his own blood. Vergil’s cock is prying him open in slow, measured degrees, a mammoth force demanding Dante’s total capitulation, and it’s too big not to drag just as slow and measured across all the places he needs it most, the aching places, his prostate, lighting Dante up behind the eyes, dragging out of him a mélange of a moan and a wail and a demon’s roar. 

“That’s it,” Vergil murmurs, “sing for me. You look so obscene right now, split apart so helplessly on my cock, and I'm not even halfway inside.”

“Shut up,” Dante bites out, “shut the fuck up,” ‘cause Vergil crooning sleek filth at him, speaking to all the desperate things in him, spurring them on, is its own kind of perfect torment, and there’s only so much Dante can handle all at once.

Vergil just laughs, the jackass, and Dante tries fruitlessly to bite at him, but he’s also thinking about it now, imagining it, what Vergil’s seeing, how fucking insignificant Dante’s hole would seem next to the enormity, impossibility, of Vergil’s demonic cock and yet how his body yields anyway. Stretches as taut as it can, clings jealously to his brother’s dick. As the ridges and whorls of Vergil’s dick resolutely scrape deeper into him, Dante deliriously thinks that there'll be imprints left behind, markings etched within him everywhere Vergil's cock has touched, and Dante wants every single one of them. He wants them seared into place right to the root of his body, then branded back into him each time his brother fucks him after.

The architecture of himself will never be the same after this; he’ll always know what it feels like, this space in him carved out by the cock of his brother’s demon. He’ll always hunger after it and want it back.

Vergil talks to him throughout, driving Dante on with, "You take it so well; I knew you would," and agonizing him with, "I can't wait to see you in pieces." His voice takes on some kind of hypnotizing quality that coaxes Dante into holding onto it tight as he can through the longest slide into himself he’s ever felt: uncompromising, unrelenting, unstoppable, something that just forces Dante into taking it, letting himself be had by it.

The continuous drag of Vergil’s cock against his prostate leaves Dante utterly defenseless to a fourth orgasm, such a tight snare of pain and pleasure that he loses time, comes back to fresh blood on his hands, open claw marks on Vergil’s chest, scales along his own arms and thighs fading away. His brother doesn’t even seem to register the pain Dante’s dealt him, just looks down at Dante with open hunger, naked greed, enraptured as if Dante’s the most wondrous thing Vergil’s ever seen, the only thing worth looking at at all. 

The tightness that blooms in Dante’s chest, then, has nothing to do with his climax.

An interminable age of immense, aching fullness passes first, and then somehow Vergil is finally there, finally sheathed entirely inside Dante. 

Reaching up, Dante cups Vergil’s face in shaking hands, smearing blood across his cheeks. Against his palms, he can feel the minute jumps in his brother’s clenched jaw and the sheer heat of his skin. Beads of sweat roll down Vergil’s temple, throat, heaving chest. He’s holding himself palpably still like it’s taking all his will not to pull himself out and fuck back in and tear Dante apart with his cock the way any full demon would’ve done.

“What,” Dante says hoarsely, “you just gonna stop there?” 

“I thought I’d be kind and let you adjust.”

Dante manages a thin whisper of a laugh. “Barely—barely felt a thing. Sure you even doing something down there?” 

Vergil huffs out his own breathy laugh. His mouth takes on an arrogant slant that Dante loves for the incredible things it usually precedes. Cruel and beautiful things like: “I’m going to make you cry, little brother.”

Dante believes it. Already knows it’ll happen. 

There’s a place in him beyond defiance and impudence where everything falls away. A place where only Vergil remains and only Dante’s violent, desperate need for him remains. Dante is already getting there, the cracks in him deepening the longer his brother keeps him split apart on his cock and looks at him with those eyes that consume. 

They deepen even further when Vergil drags himself out with the same slow, measured slide that he came in with, and it’s just as excruciatingly good, yet another interminable age where shocks of electricity burst and fizzle in Dante’s blood, the sounds slipping out of him too loud, too obscene, too uninhibited. Sounds he didn’t even know he could make. Sounds he will never admit to outside of these private, intimate moments, knowing Vergil will never admit to them outside of here, either, hoarding them to himself in the same manner he hoards every other piece of Dante. 

“Listen to yourself. You sound like you’re losing your mind.” 

“I _am_ , I am, fuck, Verge, you have to—have to—” although he doesn’t know what Vergil has to do, he just knows that Vergil will do it, he always knows how to give Dante everything he wants and everything he hadn’t known he wanted. 

Dante’s so restless and volatile with the pleasure, a mass of conflicting impulses, needing more, needing to push away, but unable to do anything but let himself be forced wide open each time by his brother’s ruthless cock, whining high in his throat at every seemingly endless stroke digging right into his core. He’s dazed and hyper-conscious of everything at the same time: the great ache in his cock and the tight knots of his balls, the burning stretch at his hole burning the rest of him, the air overloaded with the musk and the vulgar, wet sounds of their fucking.

When Vergil abruptly moves faster, rocks in harder, starts truly _taking_ Dante with low grunts guttural from demonic vocal chords, the edges of Dante’s vision seem to flicker.

A buzzing in his head grows louder and, over it, he hears Vergil's heated utterance of, “Your face every time I’m inside you.” His thumb strokes under Dante’s lower lip, tracing how it hangs open around broken moans. “I could fit my cock into this hole right here, too.” 

“Fucking _please_ ,” bursts out of Dante, desperation and lust raking their unforgiving claws through him at the possibility that he could be filled by Vergil at both ends, be caught between cock and cock and be wholly possessed, used by his brother past breaking point. 

“I could, yes,” Vergil continues, "I have a doppelgänger, after all," like he’s talking more to himself, already figuring out the logistics. “Next time,” he adds— _vows_ , punctuating it with another breath-stealing, inexorable push into Dante. 

“Next time,” Dante agrees, voice gone tight, compressed, so he gives way to easier incoherence instead as Vergil keeps ramming into him just how Dante wants it: no relief, no reprieve, an onslaught that turns him into a mindless creature. His eyes prickle, he gasps, he claws at his brother as best as he can, claws at the sheets, fights back his Trigger, snarls for more, for deeper even when Vergil’s as deep as he can go, wants to let Vergil bury himself somewhere between blood and bone.

Dimly, Dante thinks to himself that he’d feel it, if he reaches down right now and puts a hand over his belly, he would feel it: the shift of Vergil’s cock moving inside him, the shape of it, how his body has molded itself around his brother. And now, he thinks even more senselessly, now that he’s been spread this open, he’ll stay like this, ready and easy for Vergil to slide back inside him at any time.

Dante would allow it all, if it means more of this bliss roaring fire-wild through him. If it means Vergil looking down at him with singular focus, with fierce, hungry eyes that oscillate between demon brightness and lust darkness, as if he’s starving for Dante, been starving for him for decades. Maybe he has. Maybe, in a place they’ve both kept hidden deep down, they have been starving for this their entire lives.

“Hurts,” Dante gasps, “it hurts, hurts so good, if you stop, I swear—” 

“ _Stop_?” Vergil’s bark of laughter is barbed and dark, like he's never heard a more ridiculous notion. “I’ll keep you like this all the fucking time. Should’ve done this from the start, had you like this all those years ago when I first found you again.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you. I should’ve had this all this time, this is my _right_.” 

It's the truest thing Dante's ever said. This pleasure of theirs, this brother of his, Vergil and his mouth of burning kisses, his heart with its secretive face, his cock that erases all the hollowness in Dante—it’s all Dante’s right.

“When you get like this, Dante,” Vergil says harshly, his avid lust a blade cutting into Dante as much as the pain-pleasure of his cock does, “when you get like this—” He doesn’t finish, letting loose a ferocious sound, a deep growl as though Dante enrages him. “I should rip you apart for what you do to me.”

Dante needs to know, needs to hear it. “What do I do to you? What do I do? Tell me.”

“You make me want to give you anything, everything,” Vergil confesses, and it _is_ a confession, a secret unearthed from the shadowed depths of his brother, rare and invaluable.

“It’s what you do to me,” Dante admits in return, and Vergil makes another fierce, incomprehensible sound and then his mouth is crashing down against Dante’s, too sloppy and broken to be a real kiss, just them clumsily mouthing at each other, smothering their moans in between them. 

Dante gathers what strength he has, rolls his hips with the little leeway he has, crashing himself against the slam of Vergil’s cock as Vergil demands, "Break for me, give us both that," in a voice that won't be denied, and Dante moans at how it feels like he is truly breaking, splintering into pieces from how fucking good it all is, an inundation of bliss in the face of which he can only fracture apart. He sobs into Vergil’s mouth as his brother takes him to that place where only he and Dante exist, takes him there with pleasure that’s brutal, that’s unforgiving, edged with crackling pain. 

“You’re beautiful when you cry for me,” Vergil is saying, “I should make you cry every time,” and it’s only then that Dante realizes he really _is_ crying after all, lashes heavy with tears, breaths shaking and shuddering. 

It’s too much, he’s too transparent right now, so he turns his face away, conceals all the revelations in it, but Vergil’s hand on his face turns Dante’s head back. “Even this belongs to me,” he whispers, and Dante sees on his brother’s face something Vergil would have hidden as well, another secret unearthed: reverence peeking out from beneath his hunger. 

That does it more than anything else—that look which tells Dante Vergil is just as irrevocably his as he is Vergil’s. 

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, everything in him constricting, the deep, profound ache in his cock forcefully snatching up the reprieve it’s been craving as Vergil gets him there once more time. “I’m gonna—fuck— _fuck_!” A break in his voice as he breaks around Vergil’s dick, wet eyes scrunching shut, a rushing in his ears, his body, his overheated, hurting, dying body. His back arches up, so taut it might be a second away from snapping, his breath evaporating in his lungs. 

The pain and the pleasure run into each other, twining into a blurred entanglement Dante could never undo, smudging all along his burning nerves like fires haphazardly careening into each other. He clenches hard, again and again, around Vergil’s dick, his entire self ragged and exhausted and turned inside out as he comes for what feels like a whole century. His climax is a heaving sea inside of him, the waves of it reverberating back and forth, trying to drag him down, and Dante craves to be submerged, to disappear into its white noise depths, but he holds on, 'cause more than that, he wants to—needs to—see Vergil come. Needs to at least know he’s given his brother that before he can lose himself in oblivion. 

“Let go, Verge,” he says, voice slurred, vision blurred. “Let—let go, baby.”

Claws bite into his hips as Vergil lifts Dante up and back onto his lap, and gravity shoves Dante down Vergil’s cock, breaks him some more around it, and Dante might’ve yelled, might've outright screamed, at the burning jolt going straight through him, tearing him up, the pain transmuting into bliss even now, even now. Beyond the film of his tears, he tries to make out pieces of Vergil's face, but it's really memory that tells Dante what he's looking at: a heavily creased brow, narrowed, luminous eyes above scaled skin, fangs bared, gritted, above the strong line of jaw. He knows what image all of that comes together to compose, has seen it before on Vergil’s face, the expression that is pure predator, desire stripped down to its most primal, its truest and rawest form, and all because of _Dante_. All for Dante. 

He blinks and blinks to clear his vision and watches Vergil come the way a proper beast ought to, roaring, snarling, beautiful and wild and caring for nothing but seizing his own satiation—the picture of perfect animal ecstasy. With each roll of his hips, he pumps Dante even fuller, all the slick he’s pouring into Dante sloshing back out with Vergil's reckless thrusts, too much now to stay all plugged up, splashing their skin while all Dante can do is hold on tight around Vergil’s shoulders, try and weather the tempest of his monster-brother finding completion.

Try and eventually fail, head lolling down as his mind abruptly shorts out and he slumps against his brother like a puppet with its strings cut.

It's to a soft-edged, dreamy world that Dante returns to, fuck knows how long after. He doesn't move, careful not to with the vociferous protest his twinging muscles are bound to put up, but he's also already been moved, curled now into his brother's arms, both of them lying on their sides and Vergil's lips gentle at Dante’s eyes. Gentle along the side of Dante’s face, nuzzling, no harshness in him anymore. 

"Back with me?" Vergil asks, _sotto voce_. 

Dante hums. Mumbles nonsense. 

"It's still the same year, if you're wondering. Same hour, even. You weren't out for long."

Dante mumbles more nonsense and hears his brother huff in amusement. 

It takes several moments of struggle before he can overcome enough of his muzziness to train his gaze on Vergil and keep it trained on him. Takes even longer to make his voice work and cobble together words that make some kind of logical sense. “Feel you,” he murmurs, hoarse, his throat still bruised by the scratch of every sound Vergil's hauled out of him. “Like you’re still fucking me.”

It doesn’t feel as if Vergil has left him at all; he still feels full, open, like there's still something keeping him spread wide, and all the places where the ridges and patterns of Vergil’s cock had imprinted themselves into him are still vibrating with hot sensation. They spark beneath the vivid exhaustion and aching of his taxed body, a live undercurrent of surreal, phantom pleasure he'd keep buried in his body forever if he could. 

Vergil’s hand sweeps down from Dante's chest to Dante's belly and Dante inhales as Vergil presses down lightly, not on flat abdominal muscles, but a swell, a protrusion that could only be there from the pooling of Vergil’s come inside of him. “You won’t go a day without knowing what it’s like to be full of me.” 

“Fuck, Vergil," Dante says, shivering. "Know I’m gonna hold you to that, right?”

“I’d encourage you to.” 

Dante laughs and it fucking hurts and he loves it. He’s sore and raw in his ass, in his throat, his eyes. Sore and raw all over, scraped clean by everything that's been done to him. "We're so disgusting right now. Bed's a complete disaster, gonna have to burn it." And he doesn’t even want to contemplate his stomach or the situation between his legs right now, where he's still so loose, the come still pouring out of him, abundant stickiness everywhere. 

Vergil doesn't seem to be concerned, dropping a smattering of kisses along Dante's jaw till he gets to Dante's mouth, and Dante can't resist turning towards his brother's lips, opening up and basking in the small, undemanding kisses Vergil peppers him with as if he's taking light sips at Dante's mouth. He loses time here, also, isn't sure for how long they kiss, how long he lets himself be kissed without really participating, Vergil dipping his tongue inside, Dante watching him, half-lidded and hazy-eyed, blissed out still. He can’t even bring himself to wrap his arms around Vergil, too lazy and sluggish with satisfaction and fatigue, too content and ready to slip away into his hazy thoughts if not for Vergil's touch keeping him anchored. He does catch the slight moment, though, where Vergil tucks a whisper of, "You were perfect," beneath a kiss and slips it delicately into Dante's mouth and Dante kisses him back at that, hopes Vergil can hear him say the same. 

His brother is moving carefully, must be feeling strained himself after everything, all that slow, steady fucking no doubt murder on his self-control before he'd been able to let loose. He's messy-haired, blood-stained at the chest and shoulders, come-stained at the cock and thighs, radiant all over. He's gorgeous. Everything important in Dante's world. 

Evil, too, Dante's reminded, when Vergil brushes Dante’s clumped hair away from his eyes and makes a considering sound and says in that sultry-smoke voice, “I think I should eat you out. You can sit on my face and I’ll taste you for as long as I want, all the come I’ve filled you with.”

Dante’s garbled groan ends up a slow sob, because his brother really is insatiable and Dante is fucked out, but now that Vergil’s said it, Dante wants it, won’t rest till he’s got it: Vergil’s mouth working him back open, licking soft, soft, soft into where Dante aches sharply, where he leaks thickly, and catching everything that spills free.

Vergil laughs and it's somehow both mean and fond, so apt a sound for his brother. “Still so desperate for it. We’ll find your limits, Dante, no matter how long it takes.” 

"You’re gonna fucking kill me,” Dante says. “I can’t come again for the next million years. Least get me some water.” 

"I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, when we both know you can come more than just five times. Even if you couldn’t, it doesn’t matter.” Vergil kisses the shell of Dante’s ear, the spot behind it, easy and confident as a man who knows he owns the body he's touching. Casually, he says, "I'll make you." 

Dante sighs serenely and curls closer to his terrible, wonderful brother, who always gives him what he wants and what he needs. "Make me," he agrees.


End file.
